


Twin High Maintenance Machines

by localgoth



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Comfort, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mourning, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23070052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localgoth/pseuds/localgoth
Summary: Emily and Wyman smoke what lore indicates is Dishonored's version of weed. An exploration of Emily, her relationship with Wyman, and her own past trauma
Relationships: Emily Kaldwin/Wyman, Female Character/Non-Binary Character
Kudos: 15





	Twin High Maintenance Machines

**Author's Note:**

> Since we know so little about Wyman, I wanted to try and fill in some gaps. Also, I just picture Emily casually mentioning something that happened to her as a kid and Wyman being like "uhhh what?"

“I brought you something,” Wyman says. The promise of a gift tugs Emily’s lips into a smile. She wants to protest. To insist that Wyman’s presence is gift enough, but her lover’s face is bright with excitement, and who is she to ruin it for Wyman? “Do you remember what we smoked back when you visited in Morley?” They prompt the question. Wyman raises a small leather satchel, pinching it so it’s mouth opens. Emily peaks inside.

“White leaf tobacco,” Emily gasps, a hand covering her face. It was good quality stuff and Emily had fond memories of it during her visit. It was also illegal in Gristol. 

“Don’t worry. I set a little aside for Corvo, in case the  _ Royal Spymaster  _ has anything to say about it,” Wyman replies, giving Emily a wink. They know better than to fear Corvo, but sometimes Emily wonders if Wyman’s confidence is unfounded. Regardless, her father seemed to like them and Emily could not help but like how comfortable Wyman fit in with herself and her family. 

Illegal or not, the white leaf tobacco ends up in her hookah. Emily trades drags with Wyman as they lounge together. Her feet she had liberated from the pinching interior of her boots, and they rest, folded at the ankle, on Wyman’s lap.

“Have I ever mentioned how much I love you?” Emily speaks, a whisp of white smoke trailing out of her dazy smile. Wyman accepts the hose back, presses the tip to their lips and takes a drag.

“Is that the white leaf speaking or the Empress?” They challenge. Emily leans up from her reclined position and Wyman meets her halfway as their lips brush in a brief and slightly smokey kiss. “I like it when you wear your hair down,” Wyman comments, still holding close. She feels their fingers running through it. She felt like a person around Wyman, rather than an icon or an Empress. While Wyman appreciated Emily’s reign, she did not feel like she had an act to uphold around them.

When Emily had first started dating, she remembered a personally disappointing date she had with a noble woman - Patricia Porter. She had golden hair and rosy cheeks and Emily was quite smitten with her at the time, until during their evening, Emily’s blood alcohol content rose a little too high and a vulgar word to slip from Emily’s mouth. Emily caught herself with a hand over her lips, and a giggle managing to bubble through. Patricia did not find it nearly as humorous.

_ “That’s not cute.” _ She remembered the supercilious tone, the cutting glance the woman had given her.  _ “You’re the reigning Empress. Why don’t you act like it?” _

Emily was no stranger to the expectations that were placed on her. But when it came to a lover, s he wanted to be able to let her hair down. Wyman knew all the unattractive sides of her and yet loved her anyway, and that’s why this probably worked. 

She could remember Wyman with knobby knees and a neck that looked just a little bit too long for their body. She could remember their long, scraggly hair that caused Emily to riot when Callista had compared it to looking like Corvo’s. Now Wyman was no longer lanky, but filled out with muscle, and their hair was longer, but well kept and shiny and often secured in a ponytail. 

She had first met Wyman shortly after her mother’s passing. As a new Empress, she had far more expectations placed on her than when she had been princess. One of those expectations involved galas with nobility. Ruling Empress or not, she was still only a child, and such events held little interest with her when the majority of the guests were far more her senior. Wyman, a child of nobles from Morley, was also put through the annoyance of having to attend these events. Back then, they were two nobles who were eager for an escape from attending boring adult parties. After that night, it became a routine for Emily to sneak away with Wyman at events.

When Wyman became something more than just a long distance friend to her, Emily had a hard time pinpointing the moment. Puberty came with discussions of who they each found attractive, sometimes agreeing, sometimes berating the other for their poor taste. It came with a mutual agreement to help each other practice kissing, for when one of them met someone they really wanted to be with. 

Then she got older, and more responsibilities weighed on her shoulders. She began taking events seriously and saw Wyman less and less until she did not hear from them at all. And just when she had all but forgotten about Wyman, there was her mother’s memorial. During a particularly hard year of Emily’s reign. She had just broken from her teens years into young adulthood. Her subjects were no longer willing to excuse mistakes on her youth, as she had a full ten years to practice. Emily always did what she thought was best. She listened to Corvo’s advice, considered his wisdom before acting, though admittedly sometimes tired of having to depend on him. She wanted to prove that she could stand on her own, and maybe some choices were made in her naivety and foolish pride, and the criticisms and the backlash came. Every year was tough around that time, but that specific memorial, Emily could not get herself to stop crying long enough to show her face in public. Everyone was already saying it, that Emily did not measure up to her mother when it came to governing the isles. She wished for her mother, knowing that she would know what to do. That had been the first time in a long time that she had cried in Corvo’s lap, his hand stroking her hair and crooning a song from his native Serkonos. He calmed her long enough to coax her into making a brief appearance in order to give her speech, then he would excuse her for feeling under the weather. Her eyes were still red as they made their way to the hall, Corvo’s arm around her shoulder. Then she saw them.

Emily recognized Wyman immediately, despite what the years had done to them. She abandoned all caution and threw her arms around them, knowing in that moment that what she needed was an old friend and here she had Wyman. 

Her eyes track the birds as they flew off into the sunset sky. She found herself staring, even past when they were gone.

“What is it?” Wyman curls a lock of her dark hair around their finger. “You seem lost, deep in thought,” They observe.

“When you look at birds, what do you think of?” Emily questions. 

“I think the white tobacco is getting to you,” Wyman comments, with a slight laugh. They take a long drag, contemplating for a moment. “I think of...happiness. Of getting to take a break from duty and spend some time with you,” They answer. It earns a smile from Emily. “What about you?” They expected an answer was on Emily’s mind, given that she had been the one to initially bring it up. 

“Same, I suppose.” She leans back into the couch, holding the hose of the hookah for a moment before taking a drag. “When I was little, I used to watch the birds and imagine I could become one.” She admits, a little laugh escaping her lips. She knew such a thing wasn’t possible. “I just needed an escape when reality wasn’t going well. I’ve known many cages, but none such as hopeless as the Golden Cat,” Emily explains. She knows Wyman is not one to judge, but she feels like she has to justify, if not only to herself. She notices Wyman staring.

“The...Golden Cat?” They repeat. Their eyes are wide and Emily is confused by this reaction. “Wasn’t that an old brothel?” Suddenly, she understands, and gives a little laugh.

“It’s not what you’re thinking!” She waves it off. “That’s where they kept me when I was kidnapped.” She relays it with a casual tone. To her, it was just something that happened a long time ago. For Wyman, this is the first time hearing it, and they’re horrified by how nonchalant she is acting. “They didn’t do anything to me. Mostly I was just locked in my room so I’d stay out of trouble. Not that that kept me from finding it anyway,” Emily adds, with a small laugh. Her smile fades. Wyman is being considerately quiet. Both have all but forgotten about the hookah at this point. “Six months...I spent in there. When I misbehaved, I wouldn’t get food. And I tried escaping so many times, so there were many nights I went hungry,” She laughs lightly, but her eyes are glassy with tears. Her finger presses to her eye, trying to push it away. “I don’t know why I was so determined to escape. Mother had been killed. Corvo was to be executed. My captors made sure to tell me that. I did not know who I thought I would be returning to. Deep down, I knew I was alone. As the months passed, I knew if anyone was out there looking for me, that they must have given up.” Her chest heaved for breath. Despite her best efforts, Emily was crying. Wyman reached for her thigh, gave it a gentle squeeze. “But I dreamt...I dreamt if I escaped, that I’d clear Corvo’s name or break him out of Coldridge prison myself,” Emily laughed through her tears, giving her head a small shake.

“That sounds like my Emily.” Wyman’s eyes were red with sympathy, though otherwise dry. “Even when the odds are against you, you still put up a fight. You still believe there can be a brighter tomorrow.” Wyman’s arm wraps around Emily’s shoulder, pulling her in closer. Emily rests her face in their shirt, letting the tears flow for a little bit. Maybe she had kept things in for a little too long. “I’m sorry you went through that,” They whisper into her hair. Emily’s tears are slowing, but she remains close in Wyman’s arms. For now, just Emily, not an Empress.


End file.
